I'm Your Boogeyman

October 25, 2013

🚨THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT🚨 
A/N: For the next book, I'm thinking maybe either Scream (I had a good idea for that one) or Sally Face? Let me know your thoughts. 

Michael barely fit in Sam's car. How he managed to was a mystery to everybody. By the time everybody was in the car (which took a while, because of Michael), it was nearing three in the morning. Sam's coffee had gone cold, and you were getting more tired waiting for Michael than an infant in a stroller while on a walk. 

"All good. Cramped. Go ahead." 

The drive was pretty awkward. It was awkward between Sam and Michael, AKA a serial killer who doesn't die and his doctor. It was awkward between you and Sam, mostly because he didn't know about Michael and the whole DNA thing. And it was awkward between you and Michael, because you weren't too comfortable being in a car with a serial killer, who happened to be your second cousin, but you didn't know on what side. 

The only real sound, other than the road and car sounds, was the Bill Withers and Billy Joel on the radio. If you were lucky, Bananarama would play. 

"Michael?" You spoke up, angling your head towards the reflection of the brick wall in the backseat. "Who's side are you from?" 

"English, please." 

"Are you on my mom's side or my dad's side?" 

"I didn't know him very well, but I'm from your father's side."

"So you're... U/N's mother's son." You hesitated, as the family tree gets complicated when you get passed cousins. You weren't too confident of your answers, but Michael seemed to know enough. 

"Your Uncle is my nephew, yes." 

A/N: I really hope I'm doing this whole 'Family Tree' thing right. It really does get complicated after cousins. Sorry if it's not right. 

"Did you see him much when he was younger?" 

"There's a lot you don't know. On your father's side, there seems to be that every other generation gets what the kids are now calling the 'Crazy Gene'. I have it, my niece has it, and I can tell you that both your mother and your aunt were worried that you have it. That's part of why they sent you to Smith's Grove. They wanted to protect themselves."

"Yes, that I can concur with. One night, I couldn't sleep, so I went to make a cup of tea. I walked past your Aunt and Uncle's room, and they were talking about you. Something about DNA, or symptoms, I don't really remember. I haven't seen any signs of what Michael and Jamie have, except agitation, but I think that's normal for a teenager." Sam cut in. 

You didn't know how to feel. Your own godparents had talked smack about you, and then sent you away for something they couldn't prove you had. 

"Are they bad?" You asked. 

"U/N, definitely. He's showed many symptoms his whole life. I don't know about A/N. I think she may have been manipulated by U/N into thinking that you're dangerous, but I'm not sure. That's why I only printed what I could prove." 

The ride was silent for a while before Sam spoke up. 

"Michael, why aren't we dead? You should've killed us by now." 

"I don't want to. You're the only person who ever seemed to care about me, and I don't know why I can't kill Y/N. I don't feel emotions. I don't feel love. But I do feel like you shouldn't die quite yet." 

Well, as relieving as it was, you were talking to a homicidal, seemingly immortal serial killer who could choke out a body builder with a shoelace. 

"Do you think you'll kill again?" 

"I don't know. Probably. That's who I am." 

"But it's not who you need to be, Michael. You-" 

"Don't bother. You've tried that so many times in the past, and it hasn't worked. Not once has it worked." 

The ride stayed silent for the last hour and a half. A mile away from the station, Sam pulled over and began the walk to the station as Michael would drive on to the house to wait for U/N and A/N to arrive. Cooper was more than happy to stretch his tiny puppy legs. 

"I saw you reading the papers in the car. Did you find anything especially incriminating?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah. I found a record." 

"Do you mean criminal or musical?" 

"Criminal. It was a juvenile record, but he was sent to juvie a dozen or so times for arson. Nothing major, mostly trash, but one did catch onto a lady's house. The authorities got there before it spread too much, and it was really only about a hundred or so dollars in damage." You replied. 

"I do believe that that's part of the homicidal triad." 

"Yeah, they don't really use that anymore. You know, just because some people who show the signs don't become killers." You shrugged, shifting the weight of things around in your bag. 

"Oh, I know. I really only use it if I can prove that a person is a murderer, like Michael, but I think that your uncle may be connected to the death of your parents." 

"I don't even wanna know about that yet." 

______________

I parked Sam's car in the driveway of the house. The seat was uncomfortable for my height. I was practically standing. I was happy to get out of the car. 

I tried the front door, but it was locked. Back in my day, nobody locked their front doors. Maybe that's why the 60's had so many serial killers. Anyways, it was locked, so I went around back and tried the back door. It was unlocked. 

Simply, I laid down behind where the door would open and waited. 

 ______________

The two of you walked into the station, and a very distressed looking Sherriff Morgan looked up from his computer and smiled wearily. 

"Kid!" He cried. "Jesus, kid, we all thought you were gone! Where were you?" He walked over to you (well, more or less ran) and looked you over. "Are you hurt? Where were you? What happened? And Dr. Loomis; why are you here? Were you with her?" 

"In a sense. Look, Sherriff, we need to talk. Privately. And, I'd make a cup of coffee. You look... well, you look half-dead." Sam cut in. 

"Well, it's nearly five in the morning! Of course I'm tired, I've been working non-stop for the past two days trying to find you." Sherriff Morgan removed his official-looking sunglasses for the first time, and you saw bags heavy enough to carry a Christmas-Dinners' worth of groceries. Then, he took off his official-looking hat and tossed it onto the desk. 

"Come on. We'll go an interrogation room." He began to walk towards the long hallway, but suddenly paused. "Kid, what's in your bag? It's looks heavy." 

"I'll show you in the room; it'll all fit in there." You replied. 

"Uh, Sherriff?" Detective Willy suddenly called from his desk. "I've got a hit on U/N G/L/N." 

"Oh, thank God!" Sherriff Morgan replied. "Where is he?" 

"About two blocks away."